


The Stuff of Dreams

by NineTenElevenTwelve



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, POV Rose, Smut, Telepathic Bond, different kind of a bond than discontinuity, oops we accidentally bonded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-14 03:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16032500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NineTenElevenTwelve/pseuds/NineTenElevenTwelve
Summary: She walks into the library and into his dreams. Literally. And the consequences are greater than either of them can handle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning. There is smut right here at the beginning of the story. The smut in this story is integral to the plot, so if you're not into it, you might want to not read.

@)-->\---

“Doctor?” she called, wandering into the library. She'd found the flirtatious Captain Jack his own room (laughingly, and then more seriously turning down the option to join him; he'd been a gentleman about it) and had gone to get ready for bed. But, against the odds, she wasn't tired. Maybe because the day had gone so well. (“Everybody lives, Rose! Everybody lives!”) She ought to be exhausted, but instead she was buzzing with energy. So she'd wrapped herself in a dressing gown and gone to find the Doctor.

It looked as if she'd found him, but he wouldn't be keeping her company, after all. He'd fallen asleep in a chair, with a book in his lap.

Her first instinct was to leave him alone. It felt as if she were invading his privacy; he seemed strangely vulnerable with his ancient amd stark blue eyes shut. But, she'd never seen him asleep before, she couldn't help the curiosity that drew her closer. He was upright, jacket off, with his head thrown back. The long column of his throat was exposed, and his lips were slightly parted. There was a tiny, distressed-looking crinkle between them. She ached to smooth it with her thumb... And then run her fingernails across his scalp.

When had she fallen so in love with him? She'd been fascinated since “run,” known she was impossibly attracted to him since “now forget me, Rose Tyler,” but until today had simply assumed it wasn't going to happen.

She knew he cared for her. (“I could save the world, but lose you.”) But, though he'd evinced some jealousy over Mickey, Adam, and even her father, he'd never so much as hinted at a physical interest, any physical interest, with her or anyone else. Sure, he flirted (he'd flirted with Jack!) but it always seemed oh-so-casual. However, today, she was sure that when he'd been bragging about his “dancing” he meant something... else. She hadn't meant to take the conversation there. (Alright, maybe she had, she'd practically accused the Doctor of not really being a man.) But he'd become so offended so quickly that she'd been drawn into a very serious attempt to get him to kiss her. The Doctor, of all people. She'd felt a thrill in her belly, as if he were a fit bloke chatting her up at the pub, and she was thinking of going home with him. She'd thought for sure he was going to do it, but then they'd been on Jack's ship and the spell had been broken.

Later, in the control room, he'd expressed some dominant possessiveness, which she'd found more than a bit sexy. But once the one dance was over, he'd instructed her to go find Jack a room, as if he were more than fine with the potential implications.

And now here she was, watching the daft man sleep, like the besotted fool she was. He shifted, and she froze, thinking he might be about to wake up, but he stopped, the frown line slightly deeper. Actually, that chair might be a bit uncomfortable. Maybe she should wake him up? Except then he emitted a sort of soft sound, a contented sigh, and the brow crease disappeared. OK, maybe not. Maybe he always slept in a chair. He was an alien after all. Sometimes it was easy to forget.

She turned to leave, determined to let him rest, but was drawn up short when she heard his sharp exhale, followed by a low, pained-sounding moan. She whipped back around to see his eyes squeezed tight, the frown back, and his hands gripping the arms of his chair. His lips were parted and he was breathing quickly, in short, loud gasps.

Fearing he was having a nightmare, she crossed the room. Without considering it, she reached out to sooth him, touching his cheek with her palm, fingers grazing his temple and –

She was naked and lying flat on her back, and the Doctor's head was buried between her thighs, mouth working hungrily at her sex. She knew only a split second of confusion before she was awash in intense pleasure, arching into his tongue and teeth. Her hands scrabbled for purchase in his short hair.

His eyes, which had been half shut, opened lazily to gaze up at her, far darker, and far hungrier than she could have ever imagined them. He shifted the focus of his lips to her sensitive clit, and hummed, causing her to cry out at the unexpected jolt of sensation. He hummed again, eyes communicating a smug delight, and thrust two fingers into her wetness. He did something then, with mouth and fingers, but she was suddenly coming, and had no idea what it was, didn't even care.

A few moments later, after what must have been one of the strongest orgasms of her life, she looked up up to find him hovering over her. It was only then, with him naked above her, and his cock pressed against her opening, that she realized she was in his dream. She wasn't sure how she knew, or why she accepted the idea with such aplomb. But as he carefully, slowly pushed inside of her, she realized that not only could she feel him, the tension in his muscles, the hardness of his cock, the strange coolness of his skin, but she could feel him, his mind and thoughts. What's more, she could feel herself, echoed through him.

Earlier, when she believed she was reading his emotions through his eyes, she'd simply been reading his emotions, full stop. His hunger, his smugness, his delight. Now, as he carefully seated himself deep inside her, he was feeling an overwhelming sense of homecoming. He could feel the wet velvet of her cunt gripping him, could feel what she felt as she tightened around his harness.

And she could feel his love for her.

He could feel hers for him.

He had been holding still inside her, but then it was as if something broke in him, and he was plunging into her, hard, over and over again. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, and just held on.

She had never known anything like this, never felt so good. The feedback of his pleasure, and her own pleasure being reflected back at her, of his pleasure filtered through her experience and then back through his. It repeated, coiled tighter and tighter. She never wanted it to stop. She never wanted to leave his mind. She wanted to spend the rest of eternity bathed in his love. She wanted to be like this, with him, forever. And then they were both awash in blinding pleasure.

Suddenly there was a loud thump and she was standing in the library again... still?

The Doctor's book had slipped from his lap and the noise of it hitting the floor must have woken him, and by extension, her. He grabbed her hand and tore it from his face, icy blue eyes boring into her.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Doctor?” she croaked. “What was that?”

He didn't answer, just stood and practically ran from the room. Leaving her.

For a moment she wondered if it had been real. It certainly had felt real, Recalling the sensation of his pleasure mixed with her own shot a bolt of desire straight to her center. She realized her knickers were already soaked. OK, maybe it had been sorta real.

A split second later her core tightened again, this time much more intensely. She sank to the floor at the feeling. Pleasure shot through her, over and over, almost as strongly as when he'd been thrusting in the dream, only this time she seemed to be remembering it from his perspective. She came, again, hard, gasping on the library floor. It took a moment for her sight to return.

Well, that was weird.

With somewhat jellied knees she staggered back to her room, half afraid of it happening again before she got there. Spent, she climbed in bed, and fell asleep.

@)-->\---


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut. Sorry not sorry.

@)-->\---

She woke in the morning to a dull headache. Getting up, she showered, standing under the spray longer than usual, trying to clear the cobwebs, thinking about last night's dream-not-dream. The ache slowly faded and was gradually replaced by an odd, displaced sensation of guilt. She needed to track down the Doctor and make him explain. She pulled on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and trainers.

He was waiting for her in the control room, the back of her mind supplied. 

That was new.

Never one to ignore her curiosity, she decided to go see if her mind really did know where the Time Lord was.

She found him, right where she expected him, fiddling with some dials, pointedly not looking at her as she walked in the room. She could tell, for once, that his indifference was completely faked. He knew she was there, could hear her, smell her, feel her. She'd had no idea before how keen his senses were. Well, she wasn't going to pretend she didn't know he was ignoring here, not when he'd so obviously meant for her to find him.

She rushed over and grabbed his arm, annoyance flaring and then again at his alarm and dismay that she was forcing the confrontation. She looked up into his usually impenetrable face, and realized for the first time how often he used gruffness, disinterestedness and scorn to hide his deep sorrow and loneliness.

Suddenly, he shook her hand off, and it was as if the part of her mind that she was slowly beginning to associate with the Doctor's feelings was withdrawing, leaving an emptiness behind, reminiscent of the headache she'd woken with. She let out a tiny cry and her hand flew to her temple.

The Doctor's face sharpened with concern.

“Rose?” He reached for her, and then, as if realizing what he was doing, dropped his arm. The the emptiness eased slightly, and the feeling of guilt resurfaced.

“Doctor,” she said, frustrated. “We have to talk about this.”

But the Doctor had lifted his eyes to look over her shoulder, and she realized Jack had made an appearance.

“Not now,” he muttered lowly, and then turned his megawatt smile on for Jack, effectively cutting her of.

“Well Jack, the TARDIS needs a part, and this is the best place to find it.”

Damn it, he was going to take them on an adventure, try to pretend it hadn't happened. She concentrated as hard as she could to send him her annoyance, hoping to communicated something like “you're not getting out of it that easy.” He shot her an alarmed look and a sense of surprise. She gave him a grim smile, and swept past him, out of the TARDIS.

Of course, leave it to the Doctor to pick the most beautiful market town imaginable. They were on a stark white road, cut into the side of a sheer mountain, overlooking a wine-dark ocean that spread to the horizon of a pale pink sky. The buildings were made of the same white material as the road, and were set into the living rock, brightly colored curtains framed windows and doorways to shield the interiors from the pleasantly warm and humid air. A few houses to the left the road widened across a flatter spot on the mountain, to form a kind of market square, thick with stalls.

The Doctor was talking to Jack, giving him some basic instructions and Jack was scoffing, insisting he knew better. Finally, the Doctor sighed and handed Jack a stack of local currency, admonishing him that they weren't going to bail him out of jail if he screwed up.

Jack promptly disappeared and the Doctor turned to Rose, wary. Well, maybe he should be anxious. She crossed her arms and glared at him.

He spread his hands in supplication. “Rose, the TARDIS really does need that part.”

He was telling the truth, she could tell he was concerned about the TARDIS. But she could tell that he was also avoiding her.

“Fine,” she bit out. “But I want some of that money you gave Jack. You can't expect me to do nothing while you look at space junk.”

He reached into his pocket and handed some of the paper to her. As she took it, she let the other shoe drop. “And after, we're talking.” This made him blanch, though he must have known what she'd been thinking.

She wandered in the direction of the first stall, which turned out to sell an array of the sort of scarf-tunic garments that the local women seemed to favor. The material was soft and light weight and came in a variety of jewel tones. The man running the stall lit up upon seeing a foreigner. He began busily showing her the purples, explaining the process by which the fiber was made from local kelp, and that the color would bring out her eyes. His enthusiasm was suddenly cut off, however, when he glanced over her shoulder. She felt the Doctor glowering behind her, and felt a spark of something like jealousy from him. She shot him a disbelieving look, and catching his eye, felt him soften in shame. This was getting ridiculous.

“Look,” she said to him. “You go get your part and meet me later.” She gave him a speculative look. “You'll be able to find me, yeah?”

He nodded to confirm that, just as she'd known where he was this morning, he would know where she was today. Well, at least that portion of it would come in handy. Couldn't accuse her of “wandering off” any more. He turned and left the stall, and she gave her attention to the nice, very-much-not-flirtatious, tradesman.

A few blissful hours later, she had bought presents for her mum and a few trinkets for herself. She was happily letting a jeweler show her how to put on the bracelet she'd just bought, when the Doctor found her. She felt him approaching, and was just turning to smile at him. Her mood had been softened by the enjoyment of the day. But she felt a sharp stab of possessive rage, and he suddenly grabbed the hands of the jeweler and threw him against the edge of the stall table with a growl.

It was so sudden that Rose didn't have time to react. The bracelet clattered to the ground and she even swayed forward with the momentum of the Doctor's movement.

She recovered herself as quickly as possible and grabbed the Doctor's shoulder, yelling “Hey!” The jeweler was burbling incoherently and the Doctor barely glanced at her, so she tried pounding on his arm.

“Doctor!” she hollered. “What the hell?”

Just as suddenly, the Doctor released the jeweler, and giving her a stricken look, emotions a cloud of shame, he stormed off in the direction of the TARDIS.

She sighed and bent to pick up her bracelet. The jeweler looked physically fine, but she apologized and gave him the rest of her currency, just in case.

She turned and wandered slowly back to the TARDIS. Her day had been effectively ended, and she was seething with anger. She wanted to seek him out in whatever hole he'd hid himself in, drag him out, and give him a smack. But she knew that if he wanted to be alone, she'd never find him. Later, she promised herself, she'd corner him and force him to explain what the sodding blazes was happening. He'd have to skulk out, sometime.

After dropping her purchases in her room, she popped by the galley to get a cup of tea. She'd lunched on some local savory pudding type stuff that tasted a bit like curry, but there was nothing quite like a cuppa when she was in a funk.

Once there, she found Jack sitting on a stool, eating something land looked and smelled remarkably like paper clay. She wrinkled her nose at him as she set about making her tea.

“Hypatian stew, Rosie!” Jack crowed. “They sell it here. I bought lots. You should try it. It'll put hair on your chest. I grew up on the stuff.”

“No, ta. I'm good without chest hair.”

“Mmm, suit yourself. I like em sorta fuzzy. I bet the Doctor's fuzzy.” Jack seemed to drift off at the thought, but then perked up. “Hey! I've heard that sex with Time Lords is mind blowing. Is it?”

“He's...” she stopped. She'd been about to say “he's not like that,” but now she wasn't sure. She just shook her head and turned her back, remembering the insane pleasure of the night before. If that's how Time Lords have sex, it really was mind blowing, in every sense.

The Doctor must have felt her memory, because she suddenly felt a viscerally erotic response from him. Abruptly, she got an idea. Abandoning her tea bag and mug on the counter, she switched off the kettle and bolted for her bedroom, not bothering to explain to Jack.

Bursting into her room, she paused only to kick off her trainers and shimmy out of her jeans, before plopping onto her bed and sticking her hand down her pants.

Pinching her clit, she carefully concentrated on the Doctor's presence in the back of her mind, and began reviewing one of her favorite fantasies. The one where the Doctor was working on the TARDIS, lying on his back, under the console. She would straddle his knees and unhook his trousers. Reaching inside, she'd pull him out, already half hard. He'd gasp, moan, and say her name, but she'd say hush, hold still. And then she'd take him in her mouth as deeply as possible. He would cry out, fist his hand in her hair. She would lick him, suck him, stroke him. She would wrap one hand around his base and bob up and down, hard and fast. Then she'd slow down, using her tongue on the underside of the shaft and moan to let him feel the vibrations of her mouth. He might try to stop her, wanting to pleasure her too, but she’d bat his hands away. She wanted him to come in her mouth. God, she was close now, furiously stroking her clit, arching off the bed. She imagined taking him deeply again, choking a bit, withdrawing just to the edge of her tolerance, swallowing, moaning, silently begging him to come. And with a familiar, white hot pleasure, she came, knowing that wherever he was, he was coming too.

She collapsed back to the bed, gasping for breath, and hoped that had got his attention.

@)-->\---


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut. Followed by the angst. Sorry, but it'g going to be all angst, no smut, until the very, very end. Then we get our happy ending. <3

@)-->\---

A moment later the door burst open, and the Doctor's frame filled her doorway.

OK, clearly had his attention.

He was shirtless, and his trousers were open. He stepped in and slammed the door behind him. In two steps he was across the room and on top of her. He grabbed her head and kissed her hard, his arousal pushing against her thigh.

“Damn it, Rose,” he growled, shoving his hand up her top to grip her breast. His other hand moved to stroke her pussy through her knickers. “Tell me to leave, tell me you don't want me.”

She'd never been so turned on in her life, so instead she raised her hips and ground against his hand.

“No,” she said, as clearly as she could.

He moaned, the sound half relieved, half hungry. He ripped her knickers off her body, pulled his trousers open and shoved his cock inside her as far as he could. Both of them cried out, him at her exquisite tightness, her because he was larger than she expected.

This was nothing like the dream. For one thing, it was frantic. He grabbed the headboard above her for leverage, and pounded into her, setting a punishing, almost painful pace. For another thing, she was feeling and smelling him in ways that made the sharpness of the dream pale. He was huge inside her, and impossibly hard. She was dripping wet, and swollen from her earlier orgasm; slicker, hotter, softer than he'd expected. She was more of an active participant, arching, hooking a leg around him to change the angle, crying out. He was not silent. In the dream he hadn't spoken, now he cursed in a chiming language.

One thing was the same as the dream, however. She could feel his love for her. It was desperate, but it was deep, all encompassing. It was in every stroke within her, every fevered kiss to her face, lips, neck and breasts. He could feel that she loved him, that she wanted him as much as he had wanted her.

That feedback loop of emotion and sensation caused the same crescendo, lead to the same blistering sort of orgasm. Only this time he felt her muscles spasm and clamp around him and she felt his slightly cold semen hit the back wall of her pussy.

For a split second they lay, entwined on the bed, looking at each other. Then he was rolling off her and standing, back turned, fastening his trousers.

“Oh, hell no,” she muttered to herself. “You are not leaving.”

She sat up and caught one of his belt loops.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, not looking at her, sounding broken.

“No.” She stopped and considered. “Well, not any more than you might expect. I'll probably be sore tomorrow.” She felt a wave of self-loathing from him, and huffed in frustration. “Stop that!”

He turned and looked at her in shock.

“Honestly,” she said. “You'd think that by the time you're 900 you'd have fewer hangups. You didn't hurt me. I'm maybe a bit raw. Been a while and I've never been with anyone so–“ she hesitated to say “big” though it seemed odd to blush at such a detail while sitting her bed, naked but for a t-shirt, his come leaking from her. “You gave me the option to tell you to leave, and I wanted you to stay. I wanted you.”

He sat down at the foot of her bed at that, staring at the floor. She could still feel his churning humiliation.

“I need you to explain, Doctor. Why are you so upset? What happened last night?”

He glanced at her, and gave a slight smile and chuckle, shaking his head. “Leave it to you, Rose Tyler, to always ask the right questions.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at him, waiting for him to answer.

“You know that Time Lords are telepaths...” His eyes were back on the floor.

“Yeah, I figured out that I musta stumbled into your dream last night. And now you're still in my head.”

He looked up at her again, surprised. “You can feel that?” he asked softly. She nodded. “Rose, I'm so sorry.”

“Okkaayy,” she said slowly, unsure why he would be sorry. “But, what is it?”

“Last night, you were in my dream, but I don't think I realized...” He broke off and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I didn't understand you were there. I thought I was dreaming of your mind.”

“You're saying that when I touched you and ended up in your dream, you couldn't tell the difference?”

His laugh was mirthless. “Oh no, I could tell the difference. I'd never...” He stopped.

She sucked in a sharp breath of frustration. “Doctor, we just...” she waved her hand at the bed. “We just had sex.” For whatever reason, the word was remarkably difficult to say. She sighed. “I'm just as embarrassed as you are, God knows why, but we have to talk about it. You owe me an explanation.”

This last triggered something in him. “Right.” He scrubbed his face again, and breathed a deep, preparatory breath.

“I'd never dreamed of your mind, before.” She realized immediately what he wasn't saying. He wasn't saying that he'd never dreamed of her, before, but that it was the joining of minds that was new. “I don't know for sure what was dream and what wasn't, but at some point we bonded.” He seemed to know what the term mean, but she only got the vaguest of pictures.

“What's bonded?” she asked, and was met with a wave of anxiety.

“It's the joining of two minds. Irrevocably.” He was still steadfastly refusing to meet her eyes, or the questions in her thoughts, but she did catch a stray idea from him.

“Mating bond? Like a marriage? Are we married Doctor?” He nodded glumly, deep shame rolling off him.

“Oh,” she murmured faintly. Of course he'd be ashamed. She was just a stupid little ape and he'd gone and accidentally married her. In his sleep, no less. Hurt and sorrow filled her and she lay down on the bed, tugging the quilt over her. Of course he didn't want her. Not really.

“Rose,” his voice was anguished. “I'm sorry, so, so sorry.”

“Yeah, no... It's OK,” she sniffed, trying to fight back tears.

He sat at the foot of the bed, frozen with indecision. She felt like a fool. This was all her fault. She was the one who'd broken into his dream, and now he was stuck with her in his head. She'd even manipulated him into coming and having sex with her, when all he wanted was to get away. Of course he didn't want to be married to her. And now he didn't know how to handle her.

A part of her, not quite as determined to hate herself, shoved the memory of his intense love to the front of her thoughts, but she pushed it away. It was a far cry from loving someone to being married, especially mentally and forever.

She'd curled into a tight ball under the covers and was crying uncontrollably. She heard/felt the Doctor stand, and after gazing down at her for a moment, leave the room. She cried herself to sleep.

@)-->\---


	4. Chapter 4

@)-->\---

She woke with the same dull headache as the day before, only this time it was accentuated with the sore face and emotions of a night's crying. She showered and dressed again, and then felt a gentle nudging, accompanied by a slight alleviation of the headache. She followed the nudging to the galley where the Doctor had a cup of tea ready for her.

She muttered her thanks and sat heavily in a chair. Now that she was here, the headache/empty-feeling was back in full force. It made her feel confused, like cotton was stuffed in her brain. It reminded her of having a bad head cold. It was like one of her senses had turned off. She was pretty sure that the Doctor was somehow keeping their minds apart and that was causing the feeling. She couldn't blame him, though. If he didn't want to feel her thoughts, or share his, she understood.

“You, uh, feel alright?” He was staring down into his own tea.

She wasn't alright, but she thought he probably meant physically. She was a little sore, but she wasn't going to open that can of worms again. She nodded and then realized he couldn't see her, so she muttered “Yeah.”

He glanced at her then, as if unconsciously, and then immediately snapped his eyes back down. As if he couldn't bear to look at her.

“Do you...” he trailed off, cleared his throat, then tried again. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“What?” God, she'd thought this couldn't get any worse. She'd been wrong. She hadn't even considered this. “You want to send me away?”

“No!” He met her eyes finally, and the headache eased slightly. She caught a feeling of anxiety that quickly disappeared, returning her to emptiness again.

“You don't want me to go?” She felt like she was grasping at straws. She didn't want to be the kind of girlfriend who begged during a breakup, though. If that was what this was. They'd have to have been properly together for this to be a breakup.

“No, Rose. I really don't, but if you don't want to stay, I'd understand.”

“I do,” she said. “Want to stay.”

“You do?” His expression softened a tiny bit, for the first time since she'd walked in.

“Yeah. I love this life. I want –“ She'd been about to say, 'I want to stay with you forever', but cut herself off. Too close to begging.

His face sobered again, but this time he met her eyes squarely. “Whatever you want, Rose. No matter what it is.” He let her feel his sincerity and it was everything she could do to keep from sobbing with relief at the brief return of his thoughts. But then they were gone again and her head throbbed. So, she just nodded and then stood as carefully as possible, abandoning her undrunk tea on the table.

“I think I'm going back to bed now, if that's OK.”

“Yeah.” He seemed briefly upset, but then shuttered the expression. “Absolutely. We'll take a day in.”

“Great,” she muttered, then fled.

@)-->\---

It was hours later that she finally felt capable of emerging from her room. At first she had tried to sleep, but only tossed and turned. Then she got up, and attempted to read. The cloudiness in her head made concentration on the page difficult, so she took an aspirin, hoping it would clear it up. The aspirin did nothing. She painted her toenails. She tried reading again. Finally she gave up and decided to try watching a film in the media room.

She found Jack sprawled in a comfy chair, watching a 48th century documentary on the ice-mer people of Standegg. He looked delighted to see her.

“Rosie! Oh thank god! I can't make the controls work. This is the only thing it'll play. I really couldn't care less about these penguin princesses or whatever they are.”

Rose picked up the remote type object (which only had two buttons) and clicked it a few times. It switched to a 33rd century remake of Amelié, but with simultaneous translation rather than dubbing or subtitles. She plopped down on another comfy chair and sighed.

“Wait. How did you do that? You gotta show me.”

“You just sorta click and think. The TARDIS is sentient and telepathic. She's probably just playing a game.”

“Well, I've seen this before, but it's way better than the android of David Atenburough talking about the mating habits of semiaquatic lifeforms.”

“Really? I'd think that would be right up your alley.” She knew she sounded a bit cross, but, well, she was.

“I do have other interests, you know.”

“Sorry Jack, I'm just a bit testy, today.”

“Wanna tell Uncle Jack?”

“Uncle Jack?” she laughed. “What, are you my funny uncle?”

“What's a funny uncle?”

“Never mind.” That was probably a colloquialism he could do without. “I'm fine, just... Had a bad night.”

“Yeah?” Nightmares or what?” He reached into the air between their chairs and snagged her hand.

A cold voice interrupted them before she could answer. “Well, this is cozy.”

“Hey Doc!” Jack greeted cheerfully, dropping Rose's hand. Rose just listlessly looked over her shoulder. The Doctor was just inside the room, an unreadable expression on his face. Their eyes met. Jack began explaining that he'd been unable to work the controls, but the Doctor's gaze never left Rose's face once he'd looked at her. She stood, interrupting Jack, mid-sentence.

“You know what? I'm hungry.” She handed the Doctor the remote and he took it. For a split second their hands touched and her mind was flooded with his remorse, his anxiety, his desperate loneliness. Then her mind was blank again. She almost swayed at the loss. For a brief moment they just stared at each other, and then she passed him, and walked out the door.

As she moved down the corridor she heard Jack say. “If you want my advice Doc–”

“I really don't, Harkness.” She stopped, unable to keep from eavesdropping.

“–Apologize. I don't know what you did to piss her off, but you need to make it up to her. Do whatever it takes. Because there is no one like her.”

“I know that.” She realized she was holding her breath, and released it.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I have no idea.” They were silent then, and a film started playing. Something manly, with explosions and car chases. She made her way to the galley to fix herself a much belated meal, and then carried it back to her bedroom, where she stayed until it was time to sleep again.

@)-->\---


	5. Chapter 5

@)-->\---

The next day finds the three of them locked in an alien prison. The manner in which they had ended up there had been so predictable, almost cookie cutter, that she would have laughed at it, had she been capable of laughing.

They had taken the Doctor's jacket and therefore his sonic screwdriver, but the Doctor seemed more upset about the loss of the jacket itself. He was yelling at the guards about it through the bars, but they were ignoring him. Jack was checking the cell for weaknesses. Rose was sitting on the bare bench that seemed ubiquitous to all grimy cells, regardless of time or location, trying not to focus on her not-a-headache, and failing miserably.

Having exhausted potential escape routes, Jack came to sit beside Rose. They'd taken his coat as well, but he seemed less upset.

“You OK, Rosie? You look a bit peaked.”

“'M fine Jack. My head hurts a bit is all.” She spoke quietly, but the Doctor turned immediately.

“Headache?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She didn't want him to know the kind of headache, but she had a feeling he guessed anyway.

“How long?”

“Couple of days.”

“Have you tried taking anything?” This last question was asked with an air of defeat, as if he knew exactly what was the problem. Of course he did.

“Doesn't work.”

“Rose,” he said, sadly. “Why didn't you say anything?” The head-empty feeling immediately disappeared, accompanied by the Doctor's ever present self-hatred.

“It's only bad when I'm not distracted.”

“Oh, Rose.” Jack was looking between the two of them, as if watching a tennis match.

“I didn't want to bother you.” She received the distinct mental impression that, in the future, he wanted to be bothered. She tried to communicate the equivalent of a nod. This must have worked because the Doctor turned away, and began yammering at the guards again, changing tacks from angry to persuasive.

Now that Rose could think more clearly, she was able to look around more. It was a standard cell: one rock wall with a tiny window; bars on the other three sides; a single hinged door. The stone wall was thick with graffiti, mostly names, one rather nice poem, and several that were all odd pictograms. These aroused her curiosity, and that curiosity must have caught the attention of the Doctor. He came to stand beside the bench and looked at the scrawls.

“Is the TARDIS just refusing to translate these?” she asked.

“Exactly right, Rose Tyler.” She felt genuine pleasure from him. He seemed to enjoy the way she thought. She received a confirming nudge at this, and couldn't resist the warm feeling the idea gave her. “Bit of a prude, our TARDIS.”

This interested Jack. “What do they say?”

“Of course you'd want to know, Jack,” the Doctor scoffed.

“Can you read them?” Rose asked. “Or is the TARDIS translating for you?”

“Gallifreyan doesn't translate. I have to learn each language.”

This stunned Rose. “So, you're actually speaking English?”

“Why is that such a surprise?”

“I just thought that maybe such a simple ape language was beneath you.”

“Rose–” the Doctor started, and she somehow understood that he was hoping to reassure her about something, but Jack cut him off.

“Why are we chatting about dead languages? I want to know what the dirty graffiti says.”

The Doctor glared at Jack. Rose just snorted. “Dunno why. It's all the same isn't it? So and so's mum, call this number for a good time, etc. 'Sides, they’re not dead languages. This is in my past, remember? Doctor said, earlier. And anyway, no language is dead as long as it's being spoken. The Doctor and the TARDIS both speak Gallifreyan, right Doctor?”

The Doctor was impressed by this logic, and slightly touched, as if Rose had defended the legitimacy of his language. Rose wondered idly, if the Doctor could teach her Gallifreyan, or if it was too complicated. The Doctor must have caught that, because she felt his pleased surprise. Well, maybe he'd want to try.

The Doctor finally sat, having given up on retrieving his jacket, and to Rose's impossible to suppress satisfaction, sat on her side, opposite Jack. He looked at her with a soft expression, but she looked away quickly. It wouldn't do to be too clingy.

For the next hour or so they bantered, exchanged memories of funny graffiti, and then finally started playing word games. (“If they'd let me keep my coat, I had a deck of cards.” “If they let me keep my coat, I had a sonic screwdriver.”)

By the time the guards returned (bearing the Doctor's and Jack's coats and a profuse apology that had they known who they were, none of this would have happened) a warm comradery had returned between Rose and the Doctor, and they were both laughing at Jack's antics.

“Who do they think we are?” Jack asked in a whisper.

The Doctor surreptitiously looked at the psychic paper. “Apparently the ambassador of the southern continent, his wife, and the deputy ambassador. Lucky thing they ran across this instead of half a dozen other things in that pocket.”

“Like what?” Jack asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Favorite yo-yo, for one,” answered the Doctor, pulling it out and handing it to Rose.

Normally this sort of resolution would have amused Rose, but she couldn't help suppressing a shiver at the fact that the paper had listed her as the Doctor's wife. It had done so in the past, as necessary, but it had never been strictly true before.

The Doctor noted her wave of sadness, and confusion, and looked back at her. “Rose?” he prompted, quietly.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Let's get out of here.”

The Doctor held out his hand, and after a moment, Rose took it. The three of them walked back to the TARDIS, Jack griping the whole way about their treatment.

“See if that's the last time I save an entire civilization from a software bug in their electrical grid!” he yelled, as the Doctor turned his key in the lock. Rose laughed.

“Feeling better, Rosie?” Jack asked, eyeing the Doctor speculatively.

“Yep,” Rose answered, and squeezed the Doctor's hand before letting it go.

@)-->\---

Things began to return to normal between Rose and the Doctor. More or less. At first, they spent less time together. But when each noted the other's pleasure at their appearance in the galley, the media room, the library, they began actively seeking each other out, again. They would chat about where they'd been, or where they were going, listen to Jack tell a bawdy story, or just sit in companionable silence while they read or watched a film.

Touching was a more fraught experience, however. At first the Doctor would take her hand, as before. But soon it became clear to Rose that while they could hide some things from each other when they weren't touching, skin to skin contact made it impossible to do so. This didn't seem to bother the Doctor terribly, at first. It even was useful, once or twice, allowing him to silently communicate a plan to her. But she found he dropped her hand if he began to have melancholy thoughts, or if her thoughts drifted to their bond.

One night, when the three of them were in the media room watching a film. The Doctor had made a point of sitting on the couch, rather than a chair and had been warmly satisfied when Rose had joined him. As the film wore on, Rose had drifted closer, eventually laying her head on his shoulder, much to the Doctor's delight.

A short while later there had been a love scene in the film. Or rather, a bedroom scene. It was brief and hardly explicit, but it had reminded Rose of what it had felt like to have the Doctor over her, inside her, moving with her. She and the Doctor weren't even skin to skin, her head was on his jumper covered shoulder, but he stiffened immediately. Rose sat up straight and scooted back to the center of the couch. The rest of the film passed without any more snuggling.

@)-->\---


	6. Chapter 6

@)-->\---

“Back to Earth, today,” the Doctor informed Rose and Jack over breakfast, one morning.

“Again?” Jack groaned. “We always go there.”

“Oi!” Rose exclaimed.

“We need to refuel,” the Doctor explained, but received a blank look from Jack.

“Oh! Are we going to Cardiff?” Rose asked, remembering Gweneth.

“Yes!” the Doctor answered proudly. Perhaps he'd expected her to stick around and help explain to Jack, because he was disappointed when she stood and headed back towards her room. Or perhaps he caught from her mind that she was intending to call Mickey.

When Rose joined the Doctor and Jack in the control room, the Doctor was stiff and short with her. He'd set the coordinates and mentally confirmed the date and time she was expecting Mickey, but otherwise refused to engage her thoughts. She felt very little from him, and supposed he guessed the worst. Well, let him. As long as he didn't go all cave man on her again, as he had with the jeweler, she wasn't too fussed. Other than having the once named her as his wife, he'd shown no interest in her. Or rather, no interest beyond the friendship they'd had before the bond.

The Doctor threw the handbrake and the TARDIS shuddered and shook as he danced around, throwing switches, punching buttons and landing them in 2005 Cardiff.

After they'd picked themselves off the floor, the Doctor brushed imaginary dust off his sleeves and looked over at Rose.

“When shall we expect Rickey?” he asked, voice neutral.

“Who's Rickey?” Jack asked.

Rose opened her mouth to answer, but the Doctor got there first. “Boyfriend.”

“His name's Mickey,” she corrected.

“Oh, that explains a lot,” Jack snorted. The Doctor ignored this, and started pulling up grating on a mission to find something to tinker with. Rose plopped down on the jumpseat to wait.

The Doctor's timing was, for once, impeccable, as only a few minutes later, someone knocked on the door.

Jack, who was closest, answered. “Who the hell are you?” she heard Jack ask, and then heard Mickey respond indignantly. This was clearly Jack's idea of a fun time, teasing Mickey. Rose couldn't help giggling a bit, and felt a slight wash of amusement from the Doctor, tinged with a bit of satisfaction that Jack was apparently on his side.

His side? Rose wasn't sure what that meant.

“Captain Jack Harkness,” Jack was saying with significantly less suggestiveness than he usually did. “Whatever your selling, we're not buying.”

“Get out of my way!” Mickey had apparently had enough.

“Don't tell me,” Jack said as Mickey pushed past him. “This must be Mickey.”

The Doctor pulled himself up from where he was working and was instantly, disingenuously jovial. “Here comes trouble! How are you, Rickey boy?”

Rose hopped off the jumpseat and walked over. “Don't listen to him, he's winding you up.” Mentally she tried to admonish the Doctor to be nice, but he simply turned and climbed a ladder to work on a panel near the ceiling.

“You look fantastic,” Mickey commented, earning a surprised blush from Rose. She hadn't done anything special that morning, and it had been a long time since she'd gotten a compliment, other than Jack's occasional leers. She gave Mickey a hug, but smoothly evaded his attempt to kiss her cheek.

“Aw, sweet. Look at these two,” Jack teased, probably trying to needle the Doctor. Rose couldn't tell if it was working. He hadn't been this closed off in weeks. “How come I never get any of that?”

“Buy me a drink first,” he quipped from his perch on the ladder.

“You're such hard work,” Jack complained.

“But worth it.” If the Doctor were jealous, he was covering it well.

“Did you manage to find it?” Rose asked, cutting off their flirtation, never sure how serious either actually was.

Mickey stuck his hand in his pocket and handed her the passport. “Here you go.”

“I can go anywhere, now,” she said.

“I told you,” the Doctor said. “You don't need a passport.” He'd said no such thing, at any time, but he was expressing his displeasure that she'd called Mickey. And they both knew it.

“It's all very well going to Platform One, and Justica, and the the Glass Pyramid of San Kaloon, but what if we end up in Brazil? I might need it. See? I'm prepared for anything.” And it had been the only excuse she could think of to get Mickey to come out. Their conversation ought to happen in person, after all.

The Doctor seemed to catch this, but appeared to find it confusing.

“Sounds like you're staying then,” Mickey said, looking sour at this pronouncement. “So, what're you doing in Cardiff? And who the hell's Jumping Jack Flash? I mean, I don't mind you hanging out with big-ears up there.”

“Oi!” the Doctor complained, but at the same instant must have felt Rose's flash of annoyance at the epithet, because the sudden simmering indignation immediately defused.

“Look in the mirror,” Mickey snarked, obviously thinking he had the right of it. “But this guy, I don't know, he's kind of...”

“Handsome?” Jack volunteered.

“More like cheesy,” Mickey supplied. Rose supposed she ought to find this a bit funny, but instead it made her angry. Mickey was being a bit of a wanker, trying to stake his claim on her. She hadn't seen or spoken to him in months.

“Early twenty-first century slang. Is cheesy good or bad?” Jack mused, half to Rose, half back at Mickey.

“It's bad,” Mickey replied.

“But bad means good, isn't that right?” Mickey had no idea what he was up against, Jack was leading him on a merry chase again.

“Are you saying I'm not handsome?” the Doctor interrupted, apparently deciding that Mickey had dug a deep enough hole for himself already. Jack gave the Doctor an appraising and appreciative look, which Rose decided to ignore.

“We just stopped off,” Rose explained to Mickey, redirecting the conversation. “We need to refuel. The thing is, Cardiff's got this rift running through the middle of the city. It's invisible, but it's like an earthquake fault between different dimensions.”

“The rift was healed back in 1869,” the Doctor added, happily. He was feeling especially proud of her ability to grasp the situation.

“Thanks to a girl named Gwyneth, because these creatures called the Gelth, they were using the  
rift as a gateway but she saved the world and closed it,” Rose finished.

“But closing a rift always leaves a scar,” Jack continued for her. “And that scar generates energy, harmless to the human race.”

“But perfect for the Tardis,” said the Doctor. “So just park it here for a couple of days right on top of the scar and–”

“Open up the engines, soak up the radiation.” Jack interrupted.

“Like filling her up with petrol and off we go!” said Rose, getting into the roll of things.

“Into time!” Jack began.

“And space!” they all chimed, as if they'd practiced.

“My God,” said Mickey. “Have you seen yourselves? You all think you're so clever, don't you?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Yep!”

@)-->\---

“For the record,” Rose whispered to the Doctor, as they left the TARDIS. “I think you're handsome.”

This seemed to stun the Doctor, and leave him speechless, but it also warmed him. His resentment she'd called Mickey seemed to fade as the afternoon wore on. She paid Mickey no special attention. She was careful not to touch the Doctor, either, not wanting to rub it in. But she felt she was giving Mickey a good enough hint. The Doctor was in such a good mood that when she felt his sudden shift to anger she was startled and looked over at him. He was holding up the paper showing the familiar Slitheen and she believed him when he said “And I was having such a nice day, too.”

@)-->\---

Capturing Margret had been simpler than Rose would have supposed, given that the last time they had to deal with the Slitheen on Earth, they'd had to blow up Downing Street. Her accusation that they were taking her to her death stung a bit, but she'd watched the Doctor simply stand by while others died before. His morality was simply different, she told herself.

She watched Mickey slip outside and decided that it was now or never. She followed him out to the plass.

“It's freezing out here,” she said.

“Better than in there. She does deserve it. She's a Slitheen. I don't care. It's just weird in that box.”

Rose didn't answer, and wasn't sure where to start, so she decided to just be honest. “I didn't need my passport,” she confessed.

“I've been thinking, you know, we could have a drink. Have a pizza or something.” Mickey seemed to find her admission an encouragement, despite how distant she'd been all day. Well, she might as well get him dinner to soften the blow.

“That'd be nice,” she said.

“And, I mean, if the TARDIS can't leave until morning, we could go to a hotel, spend the night,” Mickey suggested. “I mean if you want to. I've got some money.”

She shook her head, surprised that he was pushing to get a leg over. She felt a visceral disgust at the idea.

“Mickey, we need to talk.” His face froze at the sentence. It was too cliché. She should have said something else.

“Oh, that's how it is,” he growled.

“No. There's just something I need to tell you.”

“You need to tell me you've hooked up with him.”

“Mickey, just let me buy you dinner, alright?” This was not the place to do this, in sight of the TARDIS, the symbol of everything she'd left him for.

He huffed in indignation. “Fine,” he nodded back towards the police box. “You need to go tell him?”

“No,” she said. He'd know how to find her. She'd felt his tension when she'd followed Mickey, and a spike of anger tinted question at her disgust, both of which she'd waved off as best she could. She and the Doctor could talk about it later.

Over dinner, Mickey asked her about her travels, and she asked him about the gossip at home. She wasn't sure how to explain to him that not only was it over, but that in her mind it had been over for a while. She wasn't sure why he was so inclined to think they had something.

After pizza they wandered a bit. The cold reminded her of Woman Wept, where the Doctor had taken her right before they'd met Jack. It had been unbelievably romantic, but she wasn't sure the Doctor had realized. She was in the middle of telling Mickey about it when he answered her dilemma by blurting something out.

“I'm going with Trisha Delaney.”

“Right.” She was surprised, and slightly pleased. “That's nice. Trisha from the shop?”

“Yeah, Rob Delany's sister.” She knew that. Mickey was being weird.

“She's nice.” Something about this felt wrong.

“You've been away.” He said it with such accusation in his voice, as if challenging her to be angry with him. She really wasn't.

“Well, good for you.” She meant it, but was afraid he didn't. She wondered if he were trying to make her jealous.

“So, tell us more about this planet, then.” Mickey seemed to realize he'd interrupted her story with a non-sequitur.

“That was it, really.” It wasn't, but she'd lost the thread.

“You left me!” he suddenly shouted. “We were nice, we were happy. And then what? You give me a kiss and you run off with him and you make me feel like nothing, Rose. I was nothing. I can't even go out with a stupid girl from a shop because you pick up the phone and I comes running. I mean, is that what I am, Rose, a standby? Am I just supposed to sit her for the rest of my life, waiting for you? Because I will.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She felt the Doctor's question, but she hastened to reassure him. “I'm sorry,” she said to Mickey. She didn't know what else to say.

“I'm not asking you to leave him,” Mickey amended. “Because I know that's not fair. But I just need something, yeah?” She shook her head at him, but he persisted. “Some sort of promise that when you go come back, you're coming back for me.”

“No Mickey,” she said as firmly as she could. “We had a good run, but it's over. It's been over, but if you needed me to say it, this is it.” What else could she possibly say? He was her oldest mate in the world, but her life had been so pointless before she met the Doctor. How do you tell someone who loves you so much, that life with them is a bore? It would be too cruel.

The Doctor was distracted by something. At first she'd thought he was giving her privacy, but now she felt a pulse of his alarm. She grabbed Mickey's arm. “We gotta go.”

“What?” He seemed confused, and then there was a loud rumble.

“What was that?” Rose asked, ready to move.

“Just thunder.” He seemed annoyed to be interrupted. Maybe he'd hoped to yell at her some more. She couldn't blame him.

“No,” she said, and as street lights exploded, she turned and ran towards the TARDIS.

“Oh, go on then, run! It's him again, isn't it? It's the Doctor! It's always the Doctor! It's never going to be me!” This was both true in one sense, and also patently ridiculous, so Rose didn't answer, just ran.

She burst into the TARDIS, feeling the Doctor's panic.

“What is it?” she asked. “What's happening?”

But the Slitheen had worked an arm out of her suit, and grabbed her by the throat. “Oh, just little me.”

The Doctor's thoughts suddenly broke through. He'd been holding them back all day, and now he let go. The change was so stark, she'd have stumbled if she were standing. He was nothing but incandescent rage and terror. He flinched in Rose's direction, but the Slitheen's hand tightened on her throat.

“One wrong move and she snaps like a promise,” Margret snarled.

The Doctor froze, impotent. His fury almost frightened Rose. Was this how he always felt when she was in danger? His eyes connected with hers and she felt his promise that, no matter what, he would save her. She believed him.

“I might have known,” said the Doctor, falsely cavalier.

“I've had you bleating all night, poor baby, now shut it. You, fly boy,” she said to Jack. “Put the extrapolator at my feet.”

Jack looked to the Doctor, who nodded. Jack placed the techno-surfboard thing at Margret's feet. “Thank you, just as I planned,” she crowed.

Rose could feel the Doctor preparing to do violence. It was a dark blackness that seemed to overtake him. She had seen bits and pieces of it before, like when they'd met the Dalek, but she'd never felt it. Not like this.

She knew it was the part of himself that he despised the most. She couldn't hate him, no matter what he did, but she didn't want him to have yet another reason to believe he was a terrible person. But there wasn't anything she could do to save herself.

“I thought you needed to blow up the nuclear power station,” she said, simply to buy herself time. Maybe the Slitheen was bluffing.

“Failing that,” Margret explained, clearly proud of herself. “If I were to be arrested, then anyone capable of tracking me down would have considerable technology of their own. Therefore, they would be captivated by the extrapolator. Especially a magpie mind like yours, Doctor. So the extrapolator was programmed to go to plan B. To lock on to the nearest alien power source and open the rift. And what a power source it found. I'm back on schedule, thanks to you.”

She felt the Doctor begging her to let him save her, but she said no, as emphatically as she could. He was terrified, but she was even more terrified for him. She sent him as much of her love as she could, trying to tell him she was doing this for him.

“The rift's going to convulse,” said Jack angrily. “You're going to destroy the whole planet.”

This seemed to spark something in the Doctor's mind, some kernel of an idea. Rose held her breath, barely daring to hope.

“And you with it!” Margret bragged. She stood on the surfboard. “While I ride this board over the crest of the inferno and all the way to freedom. Stand back, boys. Surf's up.”

Rose felt a warning from the Doctor. An instruction to keep her eyes on him. She looked at him, somewhat confused. Suddenly she felt the TARDIS shiver and saw a golden light out of the corner of her eye. It was like a bright sunrise after a day's rain, and she glanced towards it. The Doctor's warning came again, this time fairly begging her not to look. She refocused on him, and carefully avoided looking at the light.

“Of course,” began the Doctor, casually. Too casually. He was speaking now in that overconfident way he had, when he'd spotted the solution, and knew everything was going to come out alright. “Opening the rift means you'll pull this ship apart.”

“So sue me,” giggled the Slitheen, clearly unable to see that the jig was up.

“It's not just any power source,” explained the Doctor proudly. “It's the TARDIS. It's my TARDIS. The best ship in the universe.” Rose agreed, though she'd like it better if she were standing on her feet instead of being held up by the neck.

“It'll make wonderful scrap” the Slitheen taunted.

“What's that light?” Rose asked the Doctor. She assumed that if he didn't want her to look at it, it must mean it was dangerous. If she could get Margaret to look at it, that might help. The Doctor gave her the mental equivalent of his most joyful smile.

“The heart of the TARDIS,” he answered. “This ship's alive. You've opened it's soul.” Rose studiously kept her eyes on the Doctor, and he met them, as if hoping that s long as they looked at each other, Rose would be OK.

“It's so bright.” The Slitheen seemed captivated.

“Look at it Margret,” the Doctor instructed.

“Beautiful.” It was working. Her grip on Rose was relaxing.

“Look inside, Blon Fel Fotch. Look at the light.” The hand on Rose's throat released her, and the second her feet connected with the grating, she moved into the Doctor's arms. His relief was palpable.

“Thank you,” the Slitheen sighed, and then seemed to collapse into nothingness.

“Don't look,” the Doctor said to Jack. To Rose, “Stay here. Close your eyes.” Rose closed her eyes and heard the console click as the Doctor closed it. Saw the light disappear from behind her eyelids.

The Doctor wasn't done yet. “Now Jack, come on, shut it all down,” he ordered “Shut down! Rose, that panel over there, turn all the switches to the right.” Rose moved to comply, and the sound of thunder outside stopped.

“Nicely done. Thank you, all,” the Doctor said, looking down at the body suit that used to contain the Slitheen.

“What happened to Margaret?” Rose asked.

“Must have burnt up,” Jack suggested. “Carried out her own death sentence.”

But the Doctor seemed oddly pleased. “No, I don't think she's dead.”

“Where'd she go?” Rose prompted. She knew the Doctor was going somewhere with this. She was glad enough to have him happy with the outcome to humor him. He smiled at her before launching into his lecture.

“She looked into the heart of the TARDIS. Even I don't know how strong that is. And the ship's telepathic, like I told you, Rose. Get's inside your head. Translates alien languages. Maybe the raw energy can translate all sorts of thoughts.”

He bent down and flipped open the body suit, which made a sickening sort of wet sound. When he stood he was holding a large egg.

“Here she is,” he announced, almost like a proud parent.

“She's an egg,” Rose said, disbelieving.

“Regressed into childhood,” the Doctor explained.

“She's an egg,” Rose repeated.

“She can start again,” said the Doctor. His voice was still in lecture mode, but his mind was wistful. “Live her life from scratch. If we take her home, give her to a different family, tell them to bring her up properly, she might be all right.”

“Or she might be worse,” suggested Jack.

“That's her choice.” The Doctor liked that it wasn't up to him. Rose realized that such choices weighed on his mind, sometimes. They'd both encountered other members of the Raxacoricofallapatorian race. They hadn't ever been nice. But this way, if Blon/Margret turned out bad again, it wouldn't be his mess to clean up.

“She's an egg,” Rose said.

“She's an egg,” the Doctor replied, smiling at her, because he knew she understood.

Suddenly Rose remembered that she'd left Mickey out in the cold and at the mercy of an earthquake.

“Oh my god, Mickey!” she exclaimed, and almost flinched when she felt a spike of jealousy from the Doctor. As she ran out the door, she sent him reassurance that she just wanted to check and see if he was hurt. She ran all the way back to Mermaid Quay where she'd left him, but he was gone.

As she walked back to the TARDIS, she considered Mickey's anger. She felt poorly that she'd strung him along. He deserved better than someone who kept him around just because she didn't think she’d have a shot with the guy she really liked. Well, now she still didn't think she'd have a shot with the Doctor, but she knew he'd spoiled her for anyone else. She just hoped that when it was all over she and Mickey could still be friends.

“We're all powered up,” the Doctor told her, as she opened the door and stepped back into the warmth of the TARDIS. “We can leave. Opening the rift filled us up with energy. We can go, if that's alright.” Now that they'd saved the day, she could tell that the Doctor's feet were itching. Rose was just tired.

“Yeah, fine.” She nodded. She was more than ready to see the back of this day.

“How's Mickey?” It was a mark of the fact that the Doctor was concerned about her that he used Mickey's right name.

“He's OK. He's gone.” Rose felt bad for having hurt him, and she could tell that the Doctor had picked up on it.

“Do you want to go find him? We'll wait.” He would have never suggested such a thing before.

“No need,” Rose said.

“Next stop, Raxacoricofallapatorius,” Jack said. “Now you don't often get to say that.”

“We'll just stop by and pop her in the hatchery,” said the Doctor. “Margaret the Slitheen can live her life again. A second chance.”

“That'd be nice,” said Rose, and felt the Doctor's warm concern like a hug.

@)-->\---


	7. Chapter 7

@)-->\---

Rose was curled on the couch in the library when the Doctor came to find her, after having left the egg on Raxacoricofallapatorius. She'd felt him approach. He hadn't bothered to block anything since that moment when Margret had her by the throat. She could feel his trepidation, but also a note of eager hope. So as he walked in the room, she shut her book and sat up.

He sat on the other end of the couch, and fixed his brilliantly blue gaze on her. She felt laid bare. For once they were alone together, undistracted, and with the bond undampened.

“How's your neck?” he asked.

“It's alright,” she answered. “Forgot about it till you said something.”

He paused for a moment, just looking at her. Then, “You called Mickey to break it off with him.”

“Yeah. Well, no. I thought he knew we were over. I just need him to know that, well... it was really over.”

“Rose...” A series of conflicting emotions somersaulted through the Doctor in such quick succession that she couldn't follow them. “If...” He sighed and tried again. “I can't break the bond, but that doesn't mean you can't feel free to live your life.”

“Are you being deliberately obtuse, or is this wishful thinking?”

“What?” He was mildly insulted, but also perversely pleased.

“You know how I feel. I know you've felt it.” The Doctor nodded. “So, either you want to convince me to stop feeling that way, or, for some reason, you don't really believe it.”

She felt a wash of the Doctor's self-loathing, again. He seemed stuck, somehow unable to answer, however.

“That's it, isn't it? You can't believe someone would actually care about you. Genuinely, the real you. You think you're some sort of monster, and I'm just too stupid to have realized it.”

This woke the Doctor, finally. “You're not stupid, Rose Tyler.”

“Really? Then stop treating me like I am. Because yeah, maybe you don't want to be bonded to a lowly human–” He made an objecting noise at this, but she barreled on. “–but as little as it may count, I do know you, and what I see isn't always perfect. I love you anyway.”

She should have expected the moment she said it aloud to be profound, but given that they'd experienced it directly, she hadn't. So she was unprepared for the deep surge of joy she felt from the Doctor. But he wasn't done being obstinate, which was less surprising.

“I couldn't save you, today,” he pointed out.

“You could have, actually. I felt what you wanted to do.”

He nodded, but commented, “I'm never sure what you can pick up and what you can't. Should know you're getting most of it. Dead clever, you are.”

“You let me buy time so we could assess the options. We worked together, this time. Don't tell me you're not glad you didn't have to kill her. I know you are.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledged.

She knew he was considering how dangerous it was to live this life, but that he was too selfish to send her away. She leaned over and grabbed his hand.

“Doctor, I never wanna leave you.”

He sighed and she felt as if she were going to finally hear the real reason they couldn't be together.

“I'm over 900 years old.” Ah, here it came. “I'm young for Time Lord; I'm not even middle aged. I live a reckless life, but I could live for thousands of years, more. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to keep you for another hundred, hundred and twenty-five years.”

“That's a lot longer than I was expecting to live.”

“Rose.” He was anguished at the thought of living without her.

“I can't pretend I know what it's like to lose everyone.” She felt a rush of relief. It must be hell to be someone who no one could relate to. He was so grateful to be understood, even a little bit. “And I'm sorry. I’m sorry I forced you into this bond, thing. I know it's not what you really wanted.” It broke her heart to say it, because she desperately wanted to keep him.

She was expecting another wave of gratitude from the Doctor. She expected him to confirm that she'd understood something he didn't know how to express. Instead she received a frantic denial. He pulled on their still joined hands and suddenly she was in his arms.

“No,” he said, simply, staring down at her. “I wanted this. I thought you didn't.”

Her heart was in her mouth, now. “I didn't know what it was, but yeah, no. I love it.”

She could feel that he wanted to kiss her, and she tried to communicate that she wished he would. It must have worked, because his mouth descended on hers, and he was giving her the sweetest, most loving kiss she could have imagined. His love flooded her senses and she focused as much as she could on returning it with her own.

But this kiss couldn't remain romantically chaste for long. Rose had been refusing to entertain any erotic thoughts for weeks. And not only was she a healthy young human, she was in love with a very sexy Time Lord. So, without her consent, heat began pooling in her belly at the taste of him.

He pulled back, breathing heavily.

“Gods, Rose,” he said, then said something in his chiming language.

She shook her head at him, disappointed in herself. “Sorry.”

“Sorry? What in Rassilion's name for?”

“Being such a horny human.”

He barked a laugh at this, and she felt his rueful amusement. “You have no idea how badly I want you, do you? How can you not know? You walked into my dream the night we bonded. That must have given you a hint.”

“You haven't thought about it since...” She didn't like remembering the manner in which she seduced him. In contrast, however, the Doctor seemed to find the memory erotically inspiring. She felt an answering surge in her own blood.

“Well, I tried not to.” She realized, of course he wouldn't let himself fantasize about her. He thought she didn't want to be with him. She had denied those same thoughts, herself. He smiled at her, and cupped her face.

“May I make love to you, Rose Tyler?”

“Yes,” was all she could squeak, and then he was standing, tugging her to her feet, and leading her down the corridor to a door she didn't recognize. He pushed it open and pulled her inside. It was his bedroom, a place she'd never been brave enough to even consider before, but he sent her a picture of her laid out on his dark sheets. They stopped next to the bed.

“Alright?” he asked, facing her.

“Yeah,” she answered, looking up at him.

He bent and kissed her. If the kiss earlier had been a sweet love note, this was a seduction. She gripped his jumper, but the only part of him to touch her was his mouth. His lips smoothed across hers, and then his tongue traced their seam. She opened and he began exploring her, carefully, deliberately. He would note each time she moaned, gasped, or shivered, and repeat the action that had elicited it. Within moments she was a vibrating nerve of sheer want, desperately clinging to him. In frustration she slid her arms up his torso, and wrapped them around his neck, drawing herself against his body. She felt him hard against her stomach and rubbed against him wantonly. He groaned deeply and grabbed her hips. She took the moment of his distraction and flicked her tongue against his, turning the tables, trying to drive him wild instead.

After allowing her to tease him for a few moments, he raised his head but didn't let her go. Keeping his gaze focused on hers, he slid his hands up and under the hem of the t-shirt she was wearing, causing her to shiver and suck in a breath. The touch of his hands on her sides, combined with the intense look in his eyes was almost more than she could bear.

“Yes?” he whispered in question, when his hands reached the bottom of her bra. She nodded. Stepping back a fraction of an inch, he pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. He traced a finger over the swell of one breast where it rose over her bra, and she felt a hunger well up inside of him. She tugged at the hem of his jumper, and he quickly pulled it and his undershirt off.

Delighted by this new expanse of skin, she immediately ran her hands up it. He was lean, but beautifully muscled. He was also extraordinarily sensitive, if the sharp pleasure she could feel from him was any indication. Reaching his pectorals, she smiled up at him impishly, and ran her thumbs over his nipples. He groaned and captured her mouth, pulling her against him, again. This kiss was hungry and she rejoiced at having made him almost as desperate as she was. He heard that thought, and opened a part of his mind to her, showing her a deep well of lust that had been inside him, almost since the moment they'd met.

Of passing thoughts and jealous moments, of fantasies he'd guiltily entertained in private, of lucid, wildly erotic dreams, like the one she'd found him in. He backed her up until her legs his the bed and then pushed her until she was sitting down. He knelt between her knees and kissed her again. This time he showed her that he wanted to make love to her slowly. He didn't want a frantic coupling. They'd had that. He wanted to explore her, learn her, make her his.

“That alright, Rose Tyler?” he asked, voice thick, caressing her name in that unique way he had. She nodded dumbly, over come with the same tenderness-tinged lust that filled him. He bent down and untied her trainers, pulling them and her socks off. He gently massaged her feet, and then ghosted his hands up her trouser clad legs to her waist, and from there, behind her back to unhook her bra. For a split second she was amused, of course he would find it easy to do what most men found impossible. But then he was pulling her bra away with one hand and cupping the other around her breast. He cupped it gently, feeling it's weight. Bending his head, he took her already hard nipple in his mouth. She cried out and clutched his head against her. His hum of self-satisfaction vibrated through her. She arched into him and he sucked, rolling the tip with his tongue. It was almost too much, but he felt it, and he pulled away to gaze up at her. After a moment he gently pushed her back to lay on the bed, and reached for the top of her trousers. He slipped them and her knickers down her legs and off. And then she was naked. As he looked up her body she realized that this was the first time she had ever been completely naked in front of him. He'd dreamed with her, had been inside her, but now she was completely bared to him. She felt suddenly shy.

“You're beautiful,” he said reverently.

“For a human?” she asked.

He sighed and moved over her to kiss his way along her jaw. “I said that because I was embarrassed to have blurted it out, you know. You, Rose Tyler, are the most beautiful creature in all of time and space. And I'd know.”

This warmed her, and she spread her hands across his shoulder blades. He kissed her again, plundering her mouth, tasting her, caressing her. Then he began to deliberately kiss a path down her torso. Reading his intent she moaned and thrust her hips helplessly. With one hand he held them to the bed. He stopped right before he reached her thatch of pubic hair and looked up in silent question.

“God!” she cried. “Please!”

That was all he needed and he dove between her legs. He licked her slit from bottom to top, and then flicked her clit. She writhed beneath him and he had to use both hands to keep her where he needed her. As he had done with that first kiss, he set about learning her, tracing her lips with his tongue, thrusting between them as deep into has he could, sucking, even biting until she was a panting, moaning mess. Having worked out what things stimulated her most, and what merely teased her, he then set about single mindedly to make her come. He worked her until she was on the very edge and then effortlessly pushed her over it.

She came and she seemed to keep coming, wave after wave cresting and crashing over her, as he worked her with his mouth. Eventually she found herself panting, feet propped on the bed, legs bent, watching bonelessly as he stood, toed off his shoes and socks, and pulled off his trousers.

He truly was a beautiful specimen of a man. He had the lean, muscled body of a runner. His frankly gorgeous cock stood huge and hard at attention, and all for her.

“Yes,” he confirmed, and knelt on the floor between her legs, head of his cock against her opening.

He said something in his chiming language, and taking one or her legs he wrapped it around his waist. She was aching for him.

“Please, Doctor,” she begged.

He shook his head and met her eyes.

“I love you, Rose Tyler,” he said. Her breath caught and her already racing heart thumped in her chest. She arched against him, trying to get him to slip inside her, but he held back.

“Tell me what you want,” he instructed.

“You!”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you inside me. God!” She panted for breath, for a clear thought. “I want you to make love to me.”

“Tell me you belong to me,” he ordered.

“Yes! Yes. I'm yours, Doctor. Only yours.” She felt the thrill of his possessive joy and he slid inside her slick passage.

“You're so wet,” he praised, as he thrust into her. “Wet for me, because of me.”

“Yes,” she cried. “God! Yes! Doctor!”

“Mine,” he growled as he bent over her and captured her mouth in a searing kiss.

“Yours,” she affirmed, then, “I love you!”

He thrust within her steadily, the friction almost perfect. She wrapped her other leg around his back and shifted slightly. Suddenly the angle was too perfect and she was coming again without warning. He fought his own orgasm, wanting to make this last, to wring as much pleasure out of her as he could.

He pushed deeper, pushing her higher. She felt utterly wrapped in his love and adoration. She had never felt so wanted, so cherished. She hoped he could feel her love reflected back at him, and then she could feel that he did. His thrusts increased in speed, his own pleasure increasing in intensity, hers echoing his. She could feel how her pussy clenched around his cock, how his hearts beat pulsed through him.

He began thrusting harder, growling with the effort. She was crying out, close to coming again. His thrusts became erratic and then they were both coming and the world went white.

What could have been seconds or hours later, she felt him pulling out of her, cock still rock hard. She knew he had come, because she had felt it, had shared the power of his orgasm, but he was rolling onto the bed and onto his back and urging her onto her knees above him. He was speaking to her in Galifreyan again, but she knew what he wanted, and his cock easily slipped inside her again.

She was sopping, wet from some half dozen orgasms, and with his seed, and it seemed to only excite him. He gripped her hips in his hands and thrust upward as he pulled her down onto him. She couldn't do much more than reach out and steady herself on his shoulders. The angle was different, and his cock was brushing a place deep inside her, her clit was grinding against his pelvis. She was screaming, and then she was coming, and so was he, and he was emptying into her again.

When her vision cleared the second time, she was lying on her stomach, sprawled across the Doctor, and he was murmuring to her in his language, beautiful, loving, bell like words. She wished she could understand.

“I'll teach you,” he said, carefully maneuvering her until she was comfortably settled in his arms. She hummed happily.

“There are no adequate words in English to say how I feel. I'll tell you I love you, over and over, but it doesn't mean enough.”

“I can feel it,” she said, sleepily.

“You can, can't you?” He kissed her hair. “Sleep, Love.”

She hummed again at the term of endearment, but sleep was claiming her.

@)-->\---

She woke the next morning to the Doctor's happiness thrumming across their bond. She stretched, feeling sticky and sore, and blinked until her vision focused. She was alone in the Doctor's sizable bed, tangled in his blankets and sheets. After few moments of basking in his smell from his pillows and his joy in her mind, she couldn't ignore her full bladder any more. She crawled out of bed and used the Doctor's ensuite to wee and shower.

When she stepped back into the bedroom, she'd expected to find her clothes strewn about the room, but they were nowhere to be found. She'd been planning on slipping them on quickly and heading to her own room to change. Unwilling to try to creep through the halls naked, she decided to try the Doctor's wardrobe and borrow something of his.

Opening it, she was surprised to see that while half of it contained the Doctor's jumpers and trousers, the other was full of her clothes. She looked at the ceiling. Sentient ship, after all.

“Did you do this?” She asked. The lights flickered. She'd take that as a yes. Well it seemed the TARDIS approved of their change in relationship. Grabbing some track pants and a vest, she quickly dressed and then wandered down the corridor in the direction she ofl the Doctor.

“You're in a good mood this morning Doc,” she heard Jack say as she approached the door to the galley. “You and Rosie work things out?”

But Rose had walked in the room and the Doctor didn't bother to answer. His smile at Rose probably told Jack everything.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said, handing her a cup of tea.

“Morning,” she muttered, plunking down next to him and leaning her head on his shoulder. She felt his warm contentment.

“Where to today, Doctor?” Jack asked.

“Glad you asked, Jack Harkness!” he said through his patented grin. “Rose, how would you feel about an amusement park?”

@)-->\---

**Author's Note:**

> Did you miss me?


End file.
